of their favorite stations.
“In the mood for disco?” she asked with a smile.
Jack looked at her and grinned.
The Bee Gees’ “You Should Be Dancing” started. She moved her hips. Jack did the same—kind of—he was a little awkward, but still pretty coordinated for his age. She began stepping from side to side, moving backward toward the sink. Jack laughed and clapped his hands. She spun twice and he did the same.
Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting down to their meal. She’d pulled Jack’s high chair close. Disco music still played from the overhead speakers.
His lunch was a small portion of tender chicken and a cauliflower-potato fritter modified from a recipe she’d found online. She used an air fryer to make sure it wasn’t greasy, with eggs and a bit of organic cheddar acting as a binder. She made them smaller than the recipe called for so they were the perfect size for him to pick up. While Jack was pretty good with a spoon, she found that the meal went better when he could simply pick up everything on his plate.
She had leftover salmon from the night before and a couple of crackers. She probably should have made herself a salad, but it was so much effort. Kirk would tell her to buy one of those premade bags, which probably made sense, but seemed a little wasteful to her.
“Today is Wednesday,” she said between bites. “It’s nice that it’s so sunny outside. We can go for a walk later and see the ocean.”
Everything she’d read said to be sure to talk to Jack as if he were capable of understanding. Just because he wasn’t talking didn’t mean he wasn’t hearing. She was careful to always use complete sentences and plenty of specific nouns. Lulu, her mom’s pet, wasn’t just a dog. She was a Chinese crested. Food was specific, too. Bread, apple, rice cereal. The same with his toys.
Every second he was awake, she knew where he was and what he was doing. She was always looking for opportunities to stimulate his brain, to help him grow. She knew all the warning signs of autism and except for his inability to speak, Jack didn’t have any of them. But there was a reason he didn’t talk and a thousand things that could still go wrong. That reality kept her up at night.
After lunch, Jack carefully carried his plate back to the kitchen. She took it from him and put it on the counter, next to hers. She drew the gate shut again and turned off the music. Because a child had to get used to quiet, as well.
She plugged in her earbuds and, as she did every day after lunch, tuned into the police scanner app. It was the usual barrage of chatter. Two officers being sent to investigate possible domestic abuse. Someone checking in with dispatch to see if they wanted breadsticks with marinara. She glanced at the counter to make sure she’d put all the food away. Seconds later, her entire body went cold.
The words came too fast for her to follow what was happening, but enough of them got through. Two detectives. Shooter. Officer down.
Kirk! Panic flooded her, making her heart race. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t catch her breath. Even knowing she wasn’t having a heart attack didn’t stem the growing sense of dread. Her chest was tight and even though she was inhaling, she couldn’t seem to get air into her lungs.
Crackers are a tasty snack.
The singing voice from Jack’s toy cut through the growing fog in her brain. She glanced at her son, who pushed the square of plastic crackers into the lunch box, then laughed.
She hung on to the counter and told herself to stay calm. If Kirk was the injured officer, she would be getting a phone call. A squad car would show up to take her to wherever it was family went in times like this. In the meantime, she dialed Kirk’s cell, but it went right to voice mail—as it always did when he was working.
She desperately wanted to turn on the TV, but couldn’t. Jack couldn’t be exposed to the news. It was too violent. She didn’t know what memories he might retain. Besides, everything she’d read or heard said to limit television at his age.
She carefully scraped the food into her composting bin, then put the plates in the dishwasher. She wiped down the counters, all the while listening to the scanner. There were no details, just more jumbled information. No mention of names. Just a repeat of what she’d heard before.
When the kitchen was clean, she reluctantly took out her earpieces. She didn’t want to wear them in front of Jack. He needed to know she was paying attention to him. She was still having trouble breathing and was wracked by occasional tremors. Going to the beach was out of the question now. She had to stay home in case the worst had happened.
Jen took Jack into the backyard. She kept the slider open so she could hear if someone came to the front door. She had her cell phone in her pocket. For an endless hour, she played with her son, all the while waiting anxiously for some bit of news from Kirk. About one forty-five, they headed inside, where she gave Jack a light snack of pumpkin dip with a quarter of a sliced apple. When he was done with that, they went into his room to begin his afternoon prenap ritual.
She pulled the curtains shut while he picked out which stuffed animal he wanted with him. Winnie the Pooh usually won and today was no exception. She helped Jack take off his shoes, then got him into bed. She sat next to him and turned on the night-light/music box she played every afternoon. The familiar music made him yawn. One story later, he was already asleep. Jen turned on the baby monitor, then slowly backed out of the room. Once the door was closed, she ran into the family room and turned on the TV.
All the local stations were back to their regular programming. She switched over to CNN but Wolf Blitzer was talking about an uptick in the stock market. She raced to her desk and waited impatiently for her laptop to boot, then went to her local affiliate’s website and scanned the articles.
She found one on the shooting, but it hadn’t been updated in thirty minutes. There was no news beyond a suspect shooting at two detectives. The suspect had been taken into custody. There was no information on a downed officer—which meant what? No one had been shot? They didn’t want to say anything until family had been notified?
She tried Kirk’s cell again and went right to voice mail. She told herself he was fine. That he would be home soon. She needed to get moving, to tackle all the chores that piled up during the day. Jack’s nap was only about an hour. The quiet time was precious.
Only she couldn’t seem to move—mostly because her chest hurt and she still wasn’t breathing well. Panic loomed, threatening to take her over the edge. She needed her husband. She needed her son to start talking. She needed someone to keep the walls around her from closing in.
Her eyes burned but she didn’t dare cry. If she started, she might not stop and that would frighten Jack. She didn’t want any of her craziness to rub off on him. She still remembered being little and having her mother always worry and how that had upset her.
She forced herself to stand. She had to plan menus for the next few days then create a grocery list. There was laundry and the sheets needed to be changed. She would just keep putting one foot in front of the other. Kirk was fine. He had to be fine. If he wasn’t—
She sank back into her chair and wrapped her arms around her midsection. She was going to throw up. Or maybe faint. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t—
Her phone chirped, notifying her of an incoming text message from Kirk.
She straightened and grabbed her cell off the desk. Relief poured through her as she read and she sucked a lungful of air.
